You have a New Message
by ChibiP
Summary: It took a long time to get to this point, but we did, and even if I regret a few things, I don't think I'd change any of the things that led us to this moment, under the open sky, him on the hood of one of my cars, with me pounding away into his perfect ass over and over again...
1. Chapter 1

Hi! None of the people in this piece of fiction are mine, and therefore, I gain nothing from writting this. The WWE wrestlers are their own people, and their public persona belong to the WWE.

So, this piece of fiction came to me after an experience of mine. I'd like to say it was as flattering as the one in the story, but it really wasn't. Still, I think the idea of a secret admirer is very sweet... when it is done correctly. It is a relatively short fic, with short chappies that could be made into one, but I felt like dividing each important interaction, and build the relationship up a little more. I hope you like it as much as I do. Enjoy!

"Yes! Oh, god!" Not my name, but I'll take it. "Oh, Mark... so Good.. keep going... please" an ass should never feel this good. Or a body should never look that hot, for that matter. His mouth hung opened as he cried out, ass clenching my cock to the point of insanity, but I kept on giving it my all, kept on the rythm. Hard, fast, deep. Just because this glorious creature asked me, because I'd do just about anything to keep those noises coming... and frankly, because damn! an ass should never feel this good!. It took a long time to get to this point, but we did, and even if I regret a few things, I don't think I'd change any of the things that led us to this moment, under the open sky, him on the hood of one of my cars, with me pounding away into his perfect ass over and over again...

April, 1998

It was just one more show. Albeit, a fantastic show from the crowd's reaction, but to me, just a show nonetheless. I did my usual post-show routine: viewed my promo, my match, made some mental notes, went through the next show's agenda with creative, then hit the showers. It is one of the advantages of being one of the top dogs in the federation, you get to have some perks ,like a room for yourself, and the choice to just unwind on your own. I had just taken my shower, and was ready to leave to the hotel, pointedly avoiding party invitations from both Pauls, and avoiding the random fan that usually managed to get some of the other superstars attention when I saw something that called my attention: standing in a loose group were Vince McMahon and family, something rare on itself, the man wasn't used to bring his family to the shows, and an array of superstars I never thought I'd see at the same time: The Million Dollar Man, the American Dream Dusty Rhodes, Macho Man, Cowboy Bob Orton, Mick Foley and... Doink the Clown. Is that Ric Flair? Isn't he supposed to be in WCW?

Something must be going down here. That's all I could think of, and after that, I just thought whatever was happening, I wasn't invited and therefore, I wasn't needed. I had taken three steps towards the exit when Vince's voice reached me.

"Mark!" I turned, and was quickly envelopped by Mr. Dibiase himself. I had my first match with him as my agent, so we get along alright. "Its been a while, you've been doing awesome man!" he grins up at me. "Come on! We oldies planned this great get together, remember old times. you're not exactly old, but you're not exactly new."

I chuckled. Leave it to him to always tell it like it is.

"And also, just so you know, we brought what we hope to be the new breed, so they meet and get to know the business a bit. " It was then I noticed an array of youngsters behind the veterans, in various ages all of them. I didn't pay much mind to them. "We personally tried to convince them not to be wrestlers, but which kid listens to his parent?"

"Good point." I concede, speaking for the first time, smirking at the little twerps huddled up. One of them, Orton's kid I reckon, clearly in his teens, was leaning up against the wall, speaking to Stephanie McMahon and young Cody Rhodes somewhat boredly, while she was animatedly retelling how she had come up with an angle that was an attention grabber on the public. "Want me to scare them out of it?"

My answer was provided by Ric Flair himself, who was laughing heartedly. "We'd like you to try... and also, well... this IS your hometown. If anybody knows where to find good food and beers, it should be you" there's Ric for you: straight to the point.

It was a good night thought, we hit a place twenty minutes from home that has the best grilled meat on the planet, and just talked. Old and new, young and not so young, we just chatted it up until we were told it was closing time. I never got round to give my speech to the youngsters, but it was nice to hear their opinnions on certain things, get a feel of how their personalities are. I might be working with a few of them later on, and it is nice to see the future of the business would be in sensible, capable hands, if Stephanie is anything the way she sounds. By the end of the night, all veterans exchanged numbers, apparently the cell phone technology had reached them all, and bid each other good night. I was calmly driving home, thinking back on the night and glad I didn't turn the offer for dinner down when it happened:

My cell started ringing and, deciding I was safe from any cops while less than five minutes from home, even if it was an unknown number, I answered.

"Hello?"

"You're so amazing, you know that?" I had to slow the car down, and looked in the rearview mirrors, checking if maybe im being followed, or if this is a prank. What the fuck is this?

"Who is this?" I asked, more confused than angry. Confused, because I really wasn't expecting this, and because the voice was, obviously, very much a male.

"It doesn't really matter, Mark." Ok, seriously getting freaky... " I just wanted to let you know..." his voice, even though the content of his message was very sure, sounded very nervous, like he couldn't believe he was doing it himself.

"Know what?" I growled out, anger winning me over a little bit.

"That I find you amazing. Fascinating" And then, just like that, he ended the call.

Well, I'll be... some stranger just called me, on my cell phone, in the dead middle of the night, to call me fascinating. It would've been flattering, had it not been so... weird, and stalkish. Mind made up, I made it home, and decided that, should this happen again, I'd change my number first chance I get.


	2. Chapter 2

November, 1999

It is hard to change your routines. One day, you're hopping from one city to the next, delivering show after show, to go home to your wife and kids, and then the next there is no wife, there are kids only when allowed to, and there are no cities, just the four walls in your house, your dogs, a brand kick ass new girlfriend when our schedule allows and the three times a week visit to your therapist, because you had an injury and you need to get back on your feet again.

I won't lie, I am a nasty patient to have. I have a short temper, claim to know my body better than any doctor in the world, and have a really not good disposition towards being probed and poked, which is what doctors like to do the most. Ergo, I am not a happy Mark. Matter of fact, I am a bored out of my mind Mark, which along with the pain makes me a really pissed off Mark.

The one episode of the strange call had completely evaporated from my mind. It was so far gone that when my cell phone vibrated, and I saw the New Message on the screen, it didn't even occur to me that nobody ever messages me. It was an area I had yet to delve into, but after a while, I managed to extract the new message from the funny looking number. It wasn't on my contact list, it wasn't even on my area code, but the content of the message made it very clear who the message was from:

**I miss seeing you twice a week. I hope you get well soon.**

I just sat there, staring at the screen like a fool for what seemed like forever, my brain working, my mind racing, trying to decipher who the fuck could ever send this type of things to anyone. I'd certainly never do it, Im more of the walk up to them and tell it like it is approach. I hadn't been reached by this person since that night, since that call over a year ago, so I didn't see a reason to change my number, and I had honestly forgotten about it, and even if it was... disturbing to know I had a secret admirer, it was also kinda flattering to know I could hold someone's attention for so long.

I was still thinking about stuff when my phone vibrated again, a new message coming in. I hurriedly looked it up and opened it.

**I know this is weird. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Just want to let you know that if you want, you can talk to me. I'd never betray you.**

Well, there's a bomb dropped, if I've seen any. Trust this guy? I didn't even know him! Who, in their rightful mind would speak to a total stranger? If anything, I wanted to be left ALONE, rather than have any company... unless it was Sara, of course, that company I actually craved, but she was on a photoshoot straight across the country. I promptly closed the phone and never looked back at it again, mind set into ignoring whoever this person is.

That is, until three days later, when I couldn't stand looking at the phone sitting innocently on the couch, or my mind conjuring a thousand and one questions, all of which could only be answered by communicating with this person. I asked the question that, to me, seemed the most important.

_**Who the hell are you, and how did you get my number?**_

I hit sent, and immediately berated myself for doing the exact same thing I told myself I wouldn't do: I was encouraging a potentially psychotic person. Why did I send that message? Really, am I crazy? This guy could be some seriously sick person. I just hope he doesn't decide to show his face or anything, because then I'd have to dislocate his jaw... along with any important bone. And I hear they are all important. Frustrated with myself, I left the phone alone, and went to get something together for dinner, forcing myself to completely forget the issue and be done with it.

Half an hour later, I was staring at the phone, the little envelope on the screen mocking me into ignoring my own curiosity. I turned around and went back to the kitchen, denying the little artifact from hell the satisfaction of beating The Undertaker. Twenty more minutes, and I was once again being mocked by the stupid machine, the only difference was that now I had a fantastic diversion: it was boxing night, so I was sitting in my big couch, with a nice beer in hand, and was pointedly ignoring the little device resting on the table.

A part of me was yelling at me to just do the sensible thing and get my number changed, but that would mean I was freaked by some random guy I didn't even know, and I was not about to assume that position, and also, since I had no idea how the guy happened to get my number in the first place, I had no guarantee it wouldn't happen again. Pride and survival were raging that battle.

The other part of me was the one fidgeting to catch the phone and read the message it kept, curiosity was driving and we all know what happens when curiosity meets a cat. Nope. I would never be a cat, and therefore, I wouldn't pay anymore attention to those blasted messages.

Just then, my cell phone vibrated, the messages icon flashing on the screen. I picked the phone up and opened the messages withouth even noticing.

**You gave me your number, Mark. that's how I got it. Im sorry if you feel like I took some liberties with it. I just wanted to talk to you some more.**

That was the first message, the one I had pointedly ignored for the better part of the day.

**By your silence, I guess I outstayed my welcome. But please, remember you have a friend, should you ever need one. Some people find it liberating to talk to strangers. I promise not to bother you again.**

I was typing a response so fast, I was shocked by my technological dextretity... and also, the sheer panic I went into when I read the last sentence.

_**You don't bother me. Im just trying what to make of this situation. This is not common for me.**_

The moment I saw message sent, I knew I was in a whole lot of trouble, and immediately wondered whether I had lost my head or not. I was still debating it, and clearly losing the battle for my sanity, when I got another message. Hands shaking, I opened it.

**Wow! Well, that's a relief! I was afraid that would be my last message to you. Its not common for me either, you know... I just couldn't help myself but contact you once I had your number.**

Well, that was certainly flattering... and a little intense and scary. For no reason whatsoever, or maybe it was because the situation was so surreal, I started laughing. Full out, belly laughter filled my empty house for the next five to ten minutes, and just like that all the questions and doubting momenteraly evaporated. Cell phone in hand, I sat down, and wrote my text.

_**Lets say I am inclined to amuse you, and bypass how stalkish this is, and the fact that you are a guy. What exactly do you expect to get from me?**_

I sent the text, and literally just sat on my couch, not paying the tiniest bit of attention to the boxing match, looking at the phone. It took exactly three minutes for an answer to arrive. I took a deep breathe before opening it. They were only six words, but I got shivers up and down my spine reading them.

**Whatever you are comfortable giving me.**

I chuckle. Of all the cheesy, corny, kind of geeky things to say... I chuckle again, imagining him to be an infatuated kid who's heart must not be brought to reality by life yet, and he was still all life is perfect. It was both annoying and endearing. I lean to set the phone down, deciding to just ignore the little princess, let somebody else brake his little heart, but as I was leaning, the phone vibrates again, and another message comes in. Certain nothing he'd say would make me change my mind, I open the message. Im greeted by this:

**I am a guy, but believe it or not, Im not gay. I simply met you at one time, and we talked, and I found you very interesting. I'd like to get to know you, not fuck you. lol**

Okay... nothing but precisely what he said could make me change my mind. I still had my doubts about this, I mean a guy just wants to get to get to know another guy? Come on! That's just not possible! But a sense of adventure took over me, and I suddenly felt too alone, a little too old, and this little event was probably just the thing to make it change. It was like walking around the streets with no underwear: Its not exactly a crime, but it is something you know society labels as unadequate, so you get an extra thrill when you do it. There was one thing that kept nagging me though:

_**What is the meaning of LOL?**_

Alright people... thoughts and comments, incoming please. The review button is not there just to look pretty, ya know?


	3. Chapter 3

May, 2000

**That comeback was spectacular. The best I've ever seen! I love the wardrobe change, by the way.**

The message made me smile. I couldn't return it straight away though, for Paul Levesque interrupted my litttle chat time with my messaging friend to bring me another beer. Judgement day 2000 had been a total success, the pinnacle of it being the return of the one and only Undertaker... to make Triple H retain his title by attacking the McMahon-Hemsley regime. It was a good show, though, and since this is, after all, my return, I am expected to come out and hang with the guys at whatever place someone choose as the IT place.

At the moment I was sitting in the darkest corner of the place, taking my drink slowly, and looking down at the mess of people in the busy club we were at. I stayed out of it. I wasn't a dancing person. Never was, probably never will be, but I don't mind indulging in going out with the guys every once in a while. I mean, we are like family considering how much time we spend together.

"Thanks, Paul" I say, taking the beer. I may be a near 7 feet tall, big, strong and intimidating, but my momma did teach me some manners. She is a deal shorter and skinnier than me, but damn, the woman knew how to make you respect her. I got that from her.

"So, Deadman..." he says, sitting down next to me, making himself a little too comfortable for my taste. This couch was big for the average people, but we were not average, so it was getting a little cozy as he sat down. "Chatting up with your lady?" he asks, nodding in the direction of my cell phone.

I look at the device in my hand, and I can't help but smile a little. At first, the messages were short and sporadic, going on about meaningless stuff, like tastes and hobbies, sharing music or movie preferences and things as such, but about a month ago we had started speaking about things that get to be a little more personal, and we started confiding things about our personal life, issues going on with the ladies (yes, the man I was texting with had a girlfriend, which was a relief for me), family, his struggle with his career of choice. Therefore, the number of incoming and outgoing messages had increased somewhat. It was almost as if I WAS actually chatting up with a girl, so I was sort of laughing at the irony.

"Yeah, just want her to know is all good, ya know?" I answer, taking a seep of my beer, then proceed to answer the message. It was sent about an hour ago, while I was getting ready to get out of the arena, so the guy must be a little worried as to why I havent answered yet.

_**Thanks, I really wanted this comeback to turn out great! Im so much more comfortable with this gimmgick, I want it to work.**_

When I look up, I see that Paul Levesque's eyes are turned kinda sideways, the little gossip is trying to read my message! I give him a stare. He seems to recoil, and helds up his hand in a pacifying gesture. I can pacify him alright. I can make him so pacified he won't be able to consume nothing but liquids for the rest of his life, if he keeps trying to read my personal messages!

"I better go... see what Sean's doing!" He quickly excuses himself, and leaves in the pretense of finding his little buddy. I follow his hurried escape with my eyes, my hands clenched tight in barely suppresed rage. The nerve! How dare he? Is there NO sense of privacy here? The phone vibrating in my hand distracts me, I half heartedly, still seething in anger, open it.

**If anyone could pull a 180 on gimmick changes, that's you. It'll be fine, don't worry.**

I chuckle, and simply answer.

_**Thank you. Sorry I didn't answer sooner, was a little preocuppied.**_

I don't know why, but starting about a few weeks ago, I started really caring about what this person thought of what I did, and of his feelings, and was frequently asking his opinion on things that I don't usually open up to people about. Im not really sure when it started, or how, but I guessed suspition of closeness turned into a reality right after I had a fight with my first wife, because she wouldn't allow me to watch my son. I was a raging man that day, and even though it was texting, and I hand't use a single curse word, I got a message asking me if everything was okay, simply because I was really monosillibical on my answers. I still remember it as if it was today. Matter of fact, I still had the whole conversation saved up in my phone:

**You're not saying anymore than five words since yesterday. Are you alright? **

_**Things are a little tense with the family, that's all.**_ By way of explaining, that's what I wanted to say, but suddenly added _**I didn't mean to sound snappish at you.**_

**You can snap all at me you want. I'd like to think we're friends, and that's what friends are for. I just worried, because that behaviour is not normal.**

I had frozen when I read that message. Not normal? _**How could you know what's normal about me? You don't even really know me. **_ His answer was even more astounding than his statement:

**You don't need to meet someone face to face to know them. I'm sure you know what I like, and have an idea as to what my personality is from the things we've shared. Am I wrong?**

Well, I guess he was right. I did have a fairly good idea as to who this person was, and I WAS feeling a little trusting when it came to him. So far, his answers had been well grounded, calm and mature, even for someone who was clearly younger than me, if I believed the clues he had dropped around in our conversations. It added a sense of security that he was still a stranger, and I didn't have to look him in the face when spilling certain things to him. Taking a deep breath, I started venting out a few little superficial things about the situation with my ex-wife, and ever since, there was a little more communication between us, a slightly larger ammount of messages, and a just a hint of joyous curiosity when another message came in.

My cell phone announcing another message brought me back from my memories. The simple message astounded me.

**I can tell. You didn't speak to anyone after the show, and Paul couldn't run any faster from you. What did he ever do to upset you so much?**

A sudden urge gripped me. I jumped to my feet, looking down at the crowd of people on the dance floor, looking, searching, tryng to pinpoint a clue as to who my sender was. He is here. My mind told me. He has been here a long time, near me, my mind yelled. He was there during the show, saw me not talking to anyone, and he is here, looking at me scaring the crap out of Levesque. But where? Who? Gods! This wasn't fair, I wanted to know who I've been talking non-stop for the last six months, and right now, make him understand very clearly to never say a thing of what I've shared with him. I mean, it is something to spill your beans to a total stranger, knowing that if he opens his mouth it could just be discarded as rumors, but if it came from someone that you might be related to, work-related to be more specific, it could be catastrophic. I had to find this person. First, to find out who he is, and second, to do control damage.

But it was no use. Everyone was either dancing, or talking, or chatting someone of the opposite sex, or jumping like wild dogs, or- wait a minute! there's a man with a cell phone in hand, texting... and another, and another. Oh, god, there is just no use. I would never find out who it was, no matter how hard I tried. There was one thing I knew though: if he knew how I acted after the show, and was here, he had backstage access to the show and, therefore, he was working for the WWF. This narrowed down my search considerably.

I choose the reply option, choosing a rather diplomatic answer rather than trying to threaten the guy's balls off, or question him into confessing his identity.

_**Now, this isn't fair. You know all I do, and I don't even know your name. For your information, he was trying to look at our messages.**_

I made it sound like I was joking, like it didn't matter to me, and remained leaning on the handrail, looking at the crowd below me. There were god knows how many people with phones in their hands, but none of them seemed about the right person to fit the image of the guy I had in my mind. Just a minute later, a response came in.

**Im sorry, Mark. Just now, I realized I wasn't ready to let you know who I am.**

What the fuck?!

_**Why?**_

Why, why, WHY?! This thing was driving me nuts! Who the fuck did this little prick thought he was?!

**Because when I saw Paul leaning into you on the couch, I grew jealous.**

Well, there's a mind blower if I've ever seen any. I was still looking at the screen, shellshocked, not sure what to make of the situation, when a chain of messages came in, one after the other. It was the first time I had seen something like that, it was a message so large it had to be fractured, and I had to wait until the whole thing arrived to make sense of it. I opened it automatically, just out of habit, even though my hands were trembling. Trepidation filled me as I read it.

**I know I said im not gay. And Im not. I've never even thought of being with any guy sexually. But I saw him, and I wanted to be him, lean into you like that. Touch you. I found myself thinking of kissing you. I had to get out of the club. As I walked out, I ran into Paul, and he looked frightened out of his mind, talking to Sean and saying you almost ripped him a new one. I only asked you what happened because I wanted to know if he had made a move on you. I was happy though, because you didn't let him get as close as I knew I wanted to be at the moment. Im sorry, and if you're angry I understand, but I need to work this out. Until then, I think its best if we stop talking.**

I must have stayed standing there, in the middle of the place, looking at the screen like a statue, stupified to my very core as I read the message over and over again, and even while a part of me was trying to make sense of this mess, there was another, a subtle but unyielding part of me that was hurting and almost moaning in pain. It whispered to me, telling me that somehow, this sounded like I just got dumped.


	4. Chapter 4

February 3rd, 2002

**Hi. God, I hope you still want to put up with me.**

I stare at the screen feeling completely numb. It had been almost two years since I last got a message like this, and even though it was from a different number, I knew without a doubt who the message was from. My hands started shaking, it never ocurred to me that I would be contacted again. It has been almost two years, dammit! Who the hell did this little prick think he was? Mind made up, I erased the message, and kept on walking, pointedly ignoring it.

February 7th, 2002

**I know you're mad, just let me talk and explain, please?**

Fuck you, ten ways to hell. Erased, kept having lunch with Sarah and the kids. I won't be dealing with emotional homos for the rest of my life. Period.

February 13h, 2002

**I freaked, ok? I saw you, got a little jealous, and I freaked. You would too, if it happened to you! I didn't know what to think of it. I tried to put as much distance between us because of that, I tried to forget we're friends, I tried to figure out whether I was gay or not. I tried everything, and nothing worked. Im sorry if I hurt you, Mark. I just... I needed to talk to you.**

I sat there like an idiot in the middle of the airport, waiting for my cue to board the plane, while Eddie Guerrero was saying only God knows what to Chris Jericho. I was all set and ready to keep on the silent treatment. I wanted to just ignore everything this man just said, I didn't want to know he was confused, or how he tried to figure out whether he was gay or not, I didn't want any of his drama. Truth is, I thought he should've been a man two years ago and keep the communication, not just drop me like a bad habit. I was wounded, dammit, I have never been able to take rejection very well. But then, there was the last line: "I just... I needed to talk to you." That kind of line could only mean one thing: There was something wrong, and he felt there was nobody else he could confide in. My heart was thundering away as I answered him, all the while I was cursing myself for my own stupidity.

_**Is something wrong?**_

It took about a minute for a response to arrive.

**My best friend died ten days ago in a car accident. We met when we were ten months old. He was that kind of person that what everybody thinks of him just rubs off of him. Fun, crazy, determined. He always badgered me for not talking to you anymore, said I was being stupid.**

I agree with his friend. The guy acted like an idiot sometimes. But I felt genuinely sorry for him. A person you've been with since you were ten months old is nothing short of a brother. Despite all the anger I felt, I knew he didn't need complains or requests for explanations. He needed someone to be there for him. For the sake of the months speaking communicating with him, I could be gracious enough to be that person. If only just this once. Or so I told myself.

_**Im sorry for your lost, man. **_It was the first time I didn't call him boy. It wouldn't be the last. _**I can't imagine how torn up you must be.**_ There, I had done my good deed of the day. I could go to sleep with my concious clean tonight.

**Im better now. Last week was a disaster, he was all I could think of. We had all these plans laid out since forever, and never got one of them done. It kinda makes you believe in the "life is short and you only live once" crap. I decided I'd have no regrets, and I really regret not talking to you anymore.**

Alright... how does a person argue with that without sounding like a total asshole? And more importantly, why did I care if he thought I was a total asshole?! If anything, I wanted to punch the guy's face for being such a dickhead. Then suddenly, I chuckled, realizing I was holding a grudge that was almost two years old, and acting like, dare I say it, a woman scorned. I took a deep breath, analyzing things a little bit more. Did I want to keep on talking to this guy? Yeah, I did. Should I keep on talking to this guy? Probably not, even when there was no harm to it. Was I gonna mercilessly tease him about him freaking out on me, cos he thought he was gay? Hell yeah.

_**I guess I can relate to what you're saying. Just don't start doing stupid things, like jumping off moving planes and running around the street naked.**_

The call for boarding came from the speakers, and all of us McMahon slaves stood up to board the plane, calmly and quietly. I felt the phone vibrating in my hand, but kept on boarding the plane, my hand itching all the while. When I sat on my seat, glaring at the young Randy Orton, who was at the time in training and supposedly going to meet Vince, the first thing I did was take my phone out.

**LOL. I won't, don't worry. Im you glad you still wanna put up with me, man.**

I chuckled, and said exactly what I thought.

_**Im not really sure I should, but what the hell? I've done worst.**_

And just like that, we picked up where we left off. The fact that I never even tried to make him miserable for his poor behavior should've clued me in as to how nose deep I was into this nameless thing we had.


End file.
